The Witching Hour in Washtenaw by Andre Peltier 

It’s the witching hour at 

Alcatraz 

and the full moon floats 

through fog. 

While Scarface 

and the Birdman 

sit high upon 

their hog.

Spinning bootlegs 

in the morning of the 

Milky Way.

With visions upon

visions 

but the visions have 

nothing left to say.

Nothing left to 

reveal; 

nothing left to sing.

The thoughts are 

empty as the 

cells 

the island bars 

will bring.

It’s midnight dark in 

Ypsilanti, 

we’re dancing with 

the ghosts,

The spectres of 

lost innocence 

who wander down 

the coast.

Boris and Bela, 

behind the bar, 

flicker blue and 

grey,

But the bar is 

closed and 

empty, 

there’s no one who 

can stay.

Rainclouds with their 

downpour dreams 

veil lonely crescent 

moon

While haunting eyes 

and haunting chains 

are condemned 

to doom.

And here in Ypsilanti 

with terror

born of time

The ghouls will 

circle stardust 

and cover us in 

rhyme.

And the ghosts of 

Halloween 

are the ones we’ve 

left behind

Without opening 

our eyes or paying 

any mind

And the ghost of 

Friedrich Engles 

is blowing on his 

pipes

Through ragged 

river valleys 

and yellow fields 

unripe.

Andre F. Peltier (he/him) is a Lecturer III at Eastern Michigan University where he teaches literature and writing. He lives in Ypsilanti, MI, with his wife and children. His poetry has recently appeared in various publications like CP Quarterly, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Provenance Journal, About Place, Novus Review, Wingless Dreamer, and Fahmidan Journal, and most recently he has had a poem accepted by Lavender and Lime Literary. In his free time, he obsesses over soccer and comic books.

Twitter: @aandrefpeltier

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